


At the Sign Of the Dancing Maiden

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.A glass of beer, a feather bed, and thee.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 4
Collections: Least Expected





	At the Sign Of the Dancing Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and belong to him alone. I make no profits from their visits to any of these stories.  
> Feedback: Yes, please. Always!  
> Story Notes: This follows the events of [Shouting In the Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320525).

The village of Little Delving sat high in the Downs of the West Farthing, almost to the edge of what the most town-bred of hobbits would call the wilderness. It boasted a relatively small population but its tiny inn served some of the finest beer to be found this far west of Brandybuck Hall. 

"Oh, I've missed this place, I have." Sam looked up at the sign with its handsome lass caught so cleverly in mid-clog, her shiny clapper of bells held high in the final turn of the Springle-ring. "It took a while, my dear, but your old Sam's back." 

Frodo laughed and slipped a hand under Sam's elbow. "You can flirt later, Sam Gamgee. My tongue is parched and my feet want some rest, so let the lass be and come inside!" 

The Dancing Maiden was small as inns go, but out at the edge of the Shire, there was less need of such places. Strangers were rare and hobbits traveling from village to village were more or less related to at least a handful of families no matter where they were. And if one set of relations was looking down its nose at another set, the weary traveler need never worry, for right down the lane would be another uncle or sister or cousin-several-times-removed with a bite to sup and a soft bed for the night. 

The common room stood right inside the front door and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, most of which came from the fire crackling merrily in a big stone hearth in the far wall. Off to the right was a low counter with polished mugs lined up at the far end, while to the left were five tables of stained oak with low chairs topped by thick green cushions. 

To all appearances, they had the place to themselves. 

Wasting no time, Sam stepped up to the counter and rapped sharply. "Farliman Oakes, you've got customers!" 

A startled "Oi!" came from a doorway opposite, followed quickly by the sight of a very round hobbit, who puffed his way across the room to stop with a whoosh of breath right in front of them. 

"Your pardon, sirs, I was just checkin' with the missus about this evenin's supper and I didn't hear you come in." He glanced from Frodo to Sam and his cheeks puffed up in a cheery smile. "Now, what can I do for you?" 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Oakes. Don't you remember me?" Frodo grinned as the innkeeper's eyes widened with surprise. 

"Why, if it isn't young Mr. Baggins!" A chuckle started deep in his belly and he slapped his hand on the counter. "And your little Sam as well!" 

A gasp of indignation was all that Sam had time for, as Frodo stepped hard on his foot before more than a squawk could escape. 

"Yes, Farliman, it's us." Frodo held his breath, but the edge of a snort escaped anyway. The innkeeper was as kind as he could be, but not one for attending the passage of time. "We're on our way to Bindbale and wish to stay the night. Have you got room?" 

Farliman was still chuckling, but now he clapped both hands together, rubbing fiercely. "Have I got room? Why, of course I've got room!" Ducking round behind them, he shoved gently in the direction of the nearest table. "You just come right this way, the both of you, and have a seat." He pulled two chairs out, giving each one a quick wipe with his hand. "You're a little early for supper, but you just sit yourselves down and I'll fetch you some of this year's best to tide you over." He smiled broadly, patted Sam on the head and bustled off in the direction of the kitchen, stuttery chuckles tagging at his heels. 

Sam was livid. His glower dogged Farliman Oakes all the way across the room and through the doorway. It seemed doubtful that the local brew, fine as it was, would make it past his teeth any time soon. 

Frodo leaned one elbow against the table and covered his eyes, shaking with silent laughter. Sure enough, Sam's exasperated mutter wasn't long in coming. "There's oaks and there's Oakes and it seems both of 'em's got no more sense than a threelegged table." Frodo used his other hand to cover his mouth as Sam snorted. "And that's a fine insult to the table. Beer or no beer, I'll not..." 

"Sam. Please." Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Frodo reached over to gently pat Sam's clenched fists. "You know Farliman. He never could keep track of time. When we were last here, you'd barely come of age, so he's just picked up where he left off, so to speak." 

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of humor in his voice as he mumbled quietly, "Whatever you say, Mr. Frodo." 

Frodo stared, then burst out laughing. Flopping back in his chair, he laughed for some time, fresh tears coursing down his cheeks. When he felt able to look back at Sam, it was to see grin spreading from ear to ear. Frodo wiped his tears away once more and said softly, "My goodness. What would I ever do without you..." 

Sam's brows drew together and bending his head close to Frodo's, he whispered, "Waste away to nothing, I expect. Which your Sam won't never let happen. Ever." 

As is the nature of things, Farliman Oakes chose this moment to hove into view with two chilled mugs of beer. 

"Here you are, my lads. Drink up! These are on the house." Sam ducked as a mug sailed over his head and Farliman headed for Frodo. "Supper's at 6:30 on the dot, but there shouldn't be more'n two or three others besides youselves. And if you'd like to freshen up a bit before then, I'll just show you where to go." He waved a hand toward a doorway set back to the left of the counter and the corner of his mouth crooked up in a tiny smile. "We've got the one big room, up the back. Otherwise its just the three little'uns round the outside, for those as don't need more than a cot to prop their feet overnight." Now the other corner crooked up as well. "And I expect you're lookin' for somethin' a bit nicer than that." Chin tucked in tight, he clasped his hands and beamed. 

Frodo managed to bite back a burst of startled laughter. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, but a quick glance told him poor Sam was bright red. 

"How..." Frodo cleared his throat. "How nice..." He smothered further laughter with his fist and nodded his thanks to the still beaming Farliman, who nodded back and whirled himself around in a quick bustle back to the kitchen. 

Frodo didn't dare look at Sam again. Not only were sharp bubbles of laughter popping in his chest, but the ache deep in his belly was sending signals he hadn't felt in a long time. Good signals. Wonderful... 

As for Sam, a good long swallow of cool beer had done wonders for his peace of mind, but Frodo had yet to touch his. Sam reached over and tapped the other mug with his own. "Good for what ails you. Just you take a swallow or two..." But then Frodo looked up, right into his eyes, with a smile so candid, so intimate, that for the first time since they'd declared themselves, Sam realized he was intensely aware of Frodo's body, of his scent, of the need to take his clothes off... 

The mug dropped to the table with a sturdy thonk. Squeezing his knees together, Sam shoved the other mug toward forward and whispered, "Drink up. Bar's closing." 

Frodo winked, picked up his mug, downed it in one go and smacked it back down on the table. "Good..." He licked his lips. "...as good as I remember. I'm finished. So why don't we..." He ran sweaty palms slowly down his thighs. "...go freshen up." 

And without more ado, chairs were shoved back and packs grabbed from the corner. Frodo followed behind Sam as they headed for the little hallway to the back bedroom, but they'd no more than reached the end of the counter than Farliman Oakes stepped out of what was obviously the kitchen, hands buried in a dishtowel. 

"The missus says supper'll be ready right on time but don't you worry if you're a little bit late." He clasped the dishtowel against his substantial middle and chuckled. "I'll make sure the missus don't throw it all out before you've had a good sup." 

Once again, Frodo dared not look at Sam. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Oakes. But there's no need..." 

Farliman wiggled a broad finger toward the hall. "That's a mighty fine bed, too. Missus stuffed it herself. Soft as a duck's bottom, it is. Nothin' finer." 

Frodo managed a weak smile. He could hear Sam sputtering at his side. 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Baggins, a mighty fine bed. 'Twould take a lot of pother to hurt that mattress, so you just take your time." If his grin had been any bigger, his teeth would have fallen out. 

"Thank you..." Frodo's mouth opened and closed several times before he could manage any more. "That's very... good to know..." 

Farliman nodded and beamed and waved them along with his dishtowel. 

Mouth still open, Frodo turned and shoved Sam down the little hall. 

"Frodo...!" 

"Shhh!" 

Sam clutched his pack to his chest, grumbling under his breath. "Now that's what I call gettin' personal. Beds and such, just as if he had a right. If he thinks he can just up and... Oh!" 

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. They'd reached the little bedroom at the end of the hall. The door stood open and a fire spread its cheerful glow throughout the room. Frodo shoved gently at Sam's back but it was like trying to move a rock. And he'd got the strangest look on his face. 

"Um, Sam?" Frodo bit back a smile. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?" 

Sam gave a little start. "No. No, it's just... This room... I hadn't really thought about where we were..." His voice trailed away as he moved slowly through the door and dropped his pack into a big overstuffed chair. 

"Sam, are you all right?" Frodo dropped his own pack and closed the door. 

"No. Yes..." He shrugged one shoulder. "It's only that I've just remembered..." Through narrowed eyes, Sam glanced around the room, lingering at the last on a large four-poster set against the opposite wall. "My old Dad's told me many a story about courtin' my Mum. She was born in Michel Delving, but she had folks up here." He frowned. "Now how could I have gone and forgotton: they stayed here on their honeymoon." Cheeks pink, he looked everywhere but at Frodo, and whispered, "I'd guess they must have stayed in this room. In that bed..." 

Frodo lips parted in surprise, then laughing quietly, he pulled Sam into his arms, hugging him hard enough to squeak. "I'll have you know that I love you, whether your Mum and Dad stayed in this room and rumpled the sheets or not." Sam's face was pressed into his neck and Frodo could feel him shaking with laughter. "And since they're not here and we are, I think we could manage to rumple our own sheets. Put Mrs. Farliman's handywork to the test, so to speak." 

Sam pulled away, eyes wide. "What? Before supper?" 

The glint in Frodo's eyes gave fair warning as he reached behind Sam's head for a fistful of hair. "It occurs to me that you're a rascal, Sam." A trace of laughter shook his voice as he tugged Sam forward. "But I'd like to know for sure..." 

For one long moment, a devastating grin lit Sam's face and then, between one breath and the next, they were back in each others arms, all thoughts of supper forgotten. 

Sam knees went to jelly as Frodo trailed kisses along his jaw, then tongued a spot behind his left ear. The bolt of pleasure that sped through his belly went shivering down his legs, rushing back up with a surge of heat right to the center of his groin. Then Frodo pulled him closer and, with a little moan of delight, Sam felt an answering heat crowding up against his own. 

Gasping a little, Frodo pulled back just far enough to cup Sam's face. "This is just us, now. Just you and me." He could see his own face reflected within two deep, brown pools, with something wild fluttering right below the surface... "No more silence. No more pain. Just you and me." His mouth twitched in a quick smile. "And that big bed." Sam's sudden laughter rang through the room and Frodo felt his heart fill... Reaching down, he found the hardness between Sam's legs and squeezed gently, kissing the hollow of his throat. 

Sam groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. "Bed. Yes. No. Wait..." Shaking with the effort, he clasped Frodo's wrists, pushed his arms away and said in voice rough with need, "Stand still. Let me..." Only to have the breath freeze in his chest. There was such love in Frodo's eyes, so much honesty. Sam had no doubts - this was the right place, the right time. "Please, let me..." 

Something wide and bright opened deep in Frodo's heart. Tipping back his head, he stood with his eyes closed as he was slowly, carefully undressed, until he stood trembling under Sam's gentle roving hands. He wanted to laugh and cry, all at once. And where had Sam found the little tune he was humming... 

The heat from Frodo's body nearly sent Sam reeling, but somehow his fumbling fingers slipped his own clothes off. And when he pulled Frodo into his arms and their skin touched, all the way down, it was suddenly so real... 

For long moments, they spoke only in slow, shivery kisses. And then not only was the bed right there, they were in the center of it. Breathing in little gasps, Sam rolled Frodo onto his back. The firelight sent shadows dancing over their glistening bodies and for long seconds, he studied the beloved face, running the tips of his fingers gently over Frodo's eyes, his nose, his lips... "I'm here, aren't I? Lyin' in this big bed, naked as the day I was born, with such an ache in me to touch you, it seems I could pop." 

"Sam..." Frodo barely managed a hoarse whisper. 

Braced on one elbow, Sam trailed feathery kisses down Frodo's body, nipping and licking until the skin flushed rosy under his lips . "I love your neck... Your shoulders... Your nipples... Your belly button..." He buried his fingers in the dark thatch below Frodo's belly. "Your bit of flesh here..." 

"What?" Frodo lifted his head, trying to glare. "Now wait just a minute..." 

Shifting his weight, Sam slipped his thigh between Frodo's legs, tugging at the curly hairs. "Gaffer's always told me I'm a mite too frolicsome, so don't you be taking offense at your Sam's wanton ways." His fingers brushed in simple posession over Frodo's belly before he said with a grin, "I don't expect I know all the right words for love making and all." 

The grin hit Frodo right between the eyes and chased his breath far, far away. Moaning softly, he caressed Sam's flushed cheeks with with the back of his fingers, lingering over the parted lips. "You use whatever words your heart desires..." His whisper was soft, husky with desire. "For I love you too well to need other than your own perfection." 

Sam swallowed hard, but the tears spilled anyway, trickling slowly down his cheeks to gather on the edge of his jaw like diamonds in the firelight. "It's true that I didn't ever think I would love anyone as much as I love you. Not in all my years. And I do so want to lay with you, and find all the ways that please you." His sweet grin blossomed once more. "And I expect I'd like it fine if you'd take the lay of my skin, if you take my meaning." 

The laughter came bubbling up from someplace deep inside as Frodo's breath caught on a sob. "Oh, my wonderful Sam. Every inch of me is yours. And just you mark my words..." Eyes narrowed, he ran a hand up the back of Sam's thigh and into the deep, warm cleft. "Once I've recovered my wits, I shall be all over you, like a Sackville-Baggins at a yard sale." 

Sam gasped, dropping his head onto Frodo's breast, little shivers shaking his body. "Oh... Then I guess I'd better see if I can finish what I started..." With another gasp, he lifted his head just enough to suck one puckered nipple between his teeth. 

Frodo jerked and arched upward into the curve of Sam's body, moaning deep in his throat. "Please..." And then warm fingers were stroking him everywhere, setting the blood pounding in his ears. "Oh, please..." And Sam was all around him, covering him with heat and sweat and the heady scent of passion, until all he could do was writhe and twist under the clever hands and mouth, and bury his fingers in hair and sheets and air... 

Sam knew this was how it was supposed to be: he wanted to give and give and then give again. He thought his heart might leap out of his chest and if he could hold Frodo forever, it still wouldn't be long enough. Pushing his heart and soul out through his hands, through his lips and his skin, he tried to say everything he'd been holding back for so long. Whatever now drove him came from so deep inside it seemed always to have been a part of him and the ache was so fierce, it made him cry out with joy. 

And Frodo's mouth was so sweet... 

This was so far beyond anything Frodo had ever known, anything he'd been prepared for... Every part of him screamed with pleasure, every inch of his skin shuddered under the slick onslaught of hands and mouth that seemed to know just where to touch. Gasping sobs racked his body and the muscles in his thighs bunched and shivered as he arched himself into the fingers he swore had been born to fire the heat that rose to meet them. 

Eager and wild with the first of touch of passion, they left nothing unsaid, until the world spun away, leaving two sweat-slick bodies, shifting and molding together in the ancient spiral of desire. And when the ache was so deep, so strong that Frodo knew he shouldn't survive, the coil snapped and his shout was swallowed by the deep silence of Sam's warm, giving mouth and he fell cradled into the steady, welcoming heart 

For long quiet minutes, Sam lay snug in Frodo's arms, catching his breath, with no desire to move whatsoever. Then a soft kiss was place on his brow and Frodo shifted to pull him closer. 

"Do you realize how different it all might have been? If I hadn't heard you, under that tree? We would have come all the way here, perhaps never knowing, never..." 

Sam raised himself up enough to place a gentle finger against Frodo's lips. "My old Dad says, leastways when I was grown enough to know what he meant..." Sam blushed. "He says a good belly warmin' does more to clear the air than just about anything else, 'cept a wash with Lily Mounder's good lye soap. So why don't we just forget..." Sam stopped and looked at Frodo in alarm. "What's wrong? Frodo? I didn't touch somethin' I shouldn't have?" 

But Frodo was laughing so hard, he couldn't breathe and between one wheeze and the next, he grabbed Sam and pulled him as close as he could, which seemed to settle the question of what to do until supper was ready... 

End.


End file.
